


==>PS: Interrogate DD

by Ealasaid



Series: A City In Shadows [4]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Mobsterswitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scofflaw kidnaps Detective with the intention to learn as much about Scout as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	==>PS: Interrogate DD

**⇒** **PS: Kidnap your erstwhile archenemy**  
  
Pssh, this guy isn’t that much of an archenemy. You don’t _have_ archenemies. You’re Peccant Scofflaw, everyone fucking _loves_ you! When you’re not screwing them over a table or anything, that is (unless it’s Scout), which incidentally is not what you’re doing right now any way. Though it is a fabulous idea, and you file that away for future use.   
  
No, you’re not kidnapping an archenemy, you’re just kidnapping boring old Dead-Eye Detective. This guy is so _boooooooring_. Everything by the rules, all the time—and usually the spirit of the law, not the letter of it, so he doesn’t even toy with loopholes. Very restricted of thought is Detective, the bastard. It makes him so much less interesting to interact with, and seeing as he’s made it his personal quest to bring you down now that you’ve started toying with that cutie Scooter, and while the attention is flattering it’s all gotten very _dull_.  
  
You have absolutely no problem telling him this either as you wrap him up and throw him over your shoulder. He’s tall and heavier than you would have expected— “Sheesh, lay off on the donuts, Dickie”— and flops around probably deliberately, but you don’t have any real trouble teleporting him back to an apartment you keep just for the sake of genial interrogations. You prop him up in a chair, whistling, and get rid of the gag you shoved down his throat.   
  
He wheezes and coughs and his face gets a normal color—whoops, maybe you crammed it a little too far down his throat. Oh well. You give him a moment to get his breath back and grab a chair from the kitchen table, plunking it in front of him and sprawling comfortably in it.  
  
“Sooo, Dickie,” you say cheerfully. “Fancy meetin’ you here, huh?”  
  
He glares at you and says nothing.  
  
 **⇒** **PS: Commence questioning!**  
  
“Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here,” you start, oozing charm and sincerity, except really you’re not sincere at all and that’s just you trying to win him over. It’s a long shot, but you never know. “And I’d just like to take the time to say thank you for coming today! I really wouldn’t be able to do this without your help, you know.”  
  
You pause, expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything. Ugh, boooooooooooring. Dull old Detective won’t even spout a witty defiance. This guy _is_ a total wash.  
  
“Now we both have a common interest,” you continue as though there hadn’t been a pause at all, “and I’m _sure_ you can appreciate the magnitude of that interest, considering it’s our dear little Snooping Scout. I’ve heard you two are quite the pair of good friends.”  
  
Detective’s eyes narrow. Hah, as if he hadn’t already known where this was going to go. He didn’t think you actually _cared_ about him, did he?   
  
“Now _as_ a good friend, I’m sure you feel—” here you paused to emphasize the delicate way you were phrasing this— “a _certain loyalty_ to him and his habits, and that is _perfectly_ acceptable. It’s entirely reasonable that you want to, er, protect him. But, Dickie—” and here you couldn’t help but laugh— “since I’m working to the same end—more or less—I was just thinkin’ we could compare notes. You know?”  
  
Your grin widens as his glare gets worse. Obviously he doesn’t believe you. How sad; you really do mean what you say. You are _very_ fond of his pet criminal.  
  
“Now, by _comparing notes_ , I mean things like, oh...” you wave a hand dismissively. “His favorite color. Foods he likes. The movies he watches. You know, Dickie, just little things like that!”  
  
Detective seems to be frowning. You bet he doesn’t like the nickname, he keeps twitching when you use it.  
  
 **⇒** **PS: Irritate Dickie some more**  
  
“Well, Dickie?” Twitch.  
  
His face goes completely blank. It’s fascinating, you didn’t know he could do that.   
  
“I hardly believe,” he said after a beat or two, “that you intend him any good, Scofflaw. I do not see why you would think I would assist you on any endeavor to interest him.” The words are measured and precise, devoid of emotion. Ugh, he reminds you of the bastards you dealt with on Derse for Her Majesty.  
  
Still, you lean forward and put your chin on your hands, and look up at Detective with your best impression of a puppy, and smile earnestly. “Detective,” you say, affecting hurt, “I’m just here to learn about _Scout_. Is that so wrong?”  
  
He twitches again. He may well die of horror halfway through the conversation—wouldn’t that be _hilarious?_ Oh man, what a knee-slapper.  
  
“Leave him alone,” Dickie tells you, sounding as though he’s straining not to attempt to strangle you, bound as he is. “He’s getting his life back out on track, keeping clear of the law. You just want to drag him back down to your level, because you can’t stomach the thought of someone who messed up recovering from it and moving on.”  
  
 _That_ hit home. The _bastard_. His arrogance in attempting to discern your motivations knocks you right out of your amicable mood and into one more suited to murder. “My motivations in associating with Scout are none of your business,” you force through a grin you drag back across your face. “And considering they’re purely innocent—”  
  
Detective interrupts you harshly. “You want to break him because he’s doing what you can’t,” he said coldly. “You can’t move on from whatever brought you to this level.”  
  
 **⇒** **PS: Don’t lose your temper, it’s bad for business.**  
  
Maybe so, but you hit him anyway. You’re out of your seat and backhanding him hard enough to knock the chair over before you can stop yourself. He sputters on the floor, spitting blood from a split lip.  
  
You crouch over him feeling like your blood has turned to ice, pleasantly furious. “You’re adorable,” you coo in a sickening mockery of admiration. “I think you should remember that it’s not you in charge here, _Detective_.”  
  
He meets your glare, but says nothing. He doesn’t back down, and right then you’d give anything, _anything_ to burn him to ashes on the spot, to listen to him scream and beg and shatter him irreparably. But though you’ve learned nothing of Scout’s interests from this session, you do know enough that he values this man’s friendship, and you work until the urge is stuffed into a tiny box in the back of your mind.  
  
“Scout is _mine_ ,” you say softly, so very softly, and all business. “And he can’t always be with _you_. So I’d start thinking less about what I’m doing and more about what’ll happen when he’s not around to coddle anymore, hmm?”  
  
And just like that, your mood lightens. You hum and stand up, idly nudging him with one foot. “You really are difficult, you know,” you say sadly. “You’re extremely unhelpful.” You sigh and grab him by the collar, hauling him up so he’s half-choking on his own tie.   
  
“I’d better take you back, then. Let’s just hope I don’t take a detour, eh?”


End file.
